Sunday, April 18, 2004

So I saw that women I'm secretly in love with out last night. It was intense, because I had gotten pretty fucked up before I left my house, because the trains take forever, and better to be fucked up and sitting on a train than not at all. Anyway, since I was so fucked up my body was freaking out. There is this quiet hum in my head. All the cells in my body were at attention and straining towards her. Ofcourse, she'd come because her lover was there. Mind you, her lover was there some piece of ass from Jersey. They were all very pleasant with one another. My beloved was openly affectionate with her primary partner and chatty with the young woman. All very well adjusted non-monagamous crap.

As per usual I was the blithe drunk butterfly of the evening. I chatted,danced, flirted, but really it was nothing more than a rigorous excercise in self-discipline. She had to stay on the periphery of my party scene. I know I fixate. Every once I was in a while I would give myself a treat and let my eyes devour her. She can't exist to me. She 'is' who I get involved with on a mythical scale. That is to say that if there were a mythology to be created around my life, there would be a pantheon goddesses that took me down strange roads that all pointed to me. I want to worship her. What I want from her has got nothing to do with reality. This is an other worldly lust, that's where the simmering in my belly, and the hungry eyes comes from. Red looks so good on her. And she's into polyester.

I definately am lingering over the few times we chatted and had a coupla smokes. I picked her brain about stuff in her life that she had never spoken of to me. Looking back, I wonder if she found that curious. I realized what I was doing in the middle of talking to her, but honestly I couldn't help myself. I am so curious about her. Thanks Google. She said she was exhausted she's busy with her work and her art. She's got something up at the Brooklyn Museum of Art. That museum is truly lovely, I wonder if it's done yet? She's also doing something up at Yale. Did I mention that she was Ivy League educated? Purrrr....

Towards the end of the evening she was dancing to this Bollywood song. I remembered the song, because Katie had played it for me a last year and I had such a great time doing interpretive dance to it. So there I was smokin' le herb when I hear the song and I'm like: I gotta dance to this. But as I am about to bust a move I'm struck by hot, sexy, and beautiful she was dancing in her sleepy state. I'm sure she saw me giving myself a 'treat' atleast once.

I want her so badly.

Everybody here wants you, every body thinks he needs you.

Monday, April 12, 2004

Oh my god...Slut Out Sleep Over 2004...SoSo4...a macabre tale of a orgiastic lesbian slut fest on a rooftop in Brooklyn. The players...two buddies...a pair of AKAs Brooklynese stylee...and an anarchist from Wisconsin.
It all started with a glass of Jameson.

Wednesday, April 07, 2004

If there is one thing I have, it's passion. Oh blasted gainful employment. Capitalist cogs have tortured souls too. Dating is out of the question right now. Life as we know it started out with a concussive rupture of the zero hour, not with a fucking poot. Dating sucks. It's tepid so fuckin' tepid it makes me crazy. Really, the conversations are what drive me crazy the most.
I gotta get ready for work. I'll even have some bud for the evening...god what a paltry busted life. You're no Miller or Bukowski. It's time to start thinking rock star and doin' rock star.

Sunday, April 04, 2004

I can see why alot of writer's are drunks. It loosens shit up. I'm trying create this story called the Whisky diaries. A series of Vignettes about all the whiskeys I've been drunk on. There's old grand dad, jack daniels, maker's mark, heavan hill, cutty sark.....But old grand dad. that one was the best. Well the cutty sark story is pretty funny too.

Cutty Sark...

Hot boring ass Texas summer days can lead to all sorts of chicanery. One day me and my best friend drove to the mall with a pint of Cutty Sark. My best friend had gotten it in her head that getting drunk at the mall was the hippest thing we could possibly be involved in. We dumped the entire contents of the Cutty Sark pint into a Cinnabun large coca cola at Barton Creek Square Mall. We sat in the food court until we'd emptied that motherfuckin' cup. Then we went shopping for lingerie at Victoria's Secret. There was a sale.

After fingering all the pretty things, we left with a pair of maribou lined slip on bedtime heels, an "orinoco flow" type push up, and all the sexy %100 cotton panties two drunk 23 year olds could manage between us.

To be cont.


Bette is having an affair on the L word. It's kind of hot. As much as I disdain the realities of infidelity, there is a such a thrill to it all. It's erotic in the classical sense of the word.

Jesus when am I going to get laid? Everyone is getting some except me. Yes, yes... I know. If you do it anyway why don't you do it for love? I want to be in love and in a relationship that is informed by that love. That kind of thinking does not jive with casual sex. I'm over being a piece of ass. I want someone to dig me, be hot for, like me, engage me...you know just a bunch of deep textured shit. I'm horny, I just can't bring myself to fuck to fuck's sake. That kind of sex is not what interests me. I need instant electricity followed by an ebullient display of personality coupled with deep resonating warm fuzzy feelings.

I'm beggining to realize that I am a bit much for the world. Unfortunately, I'm not so confident in myself all the time so my own personality is unwieldly and uncontrolled in my very corporeal being. Very fucked up. I apologize to the world. Then again, that is exactly what I need to stop doing. Fucking chattle. I am a brilliant singular expression in the universe. This may be my first and last chance to be conscious...in tune...with EVERYTHING around me. I should let some unimaginative closed off fucks mess with that.

I miss my best friend.

Saturday, April 03, 2004

Blah seeking fucking blah. What's do I give a shit? For all the lust splattered on the interent precious little is genuine and real. Really it's all a bunch of posting up and icy countenences. Captialism is not about reality. I'ts about keeping up appearances. Either you are in or you are out Verushka. Which fucking bloody well is it?Hmm..the burning question. You were rich, but I was beautiful.
There is nothing like getting drunk on wine all by your lonesome to draw out the maudlin. I live for this shit. I fantasized about this shit when I was a kid. Getting drunk by myself with bottle of wine in NYC. Well it's happeing, but you aren't getting laid and you didn't factor that in. You like it, and you miss it now that the goddess sex play has not reared it's head in mother cunt months.

Here's the thing. I don't even register above luke warm. No body, mind, or soul is worth stepping out of myself for these days. I worry that I'm going to become a hermit motherfucker up here. My pussy is going to shrivel up and die. Cats and hardcore eccentrics will be my only friends. The future would seem a lot less stark if I got laid or had a passion. I keep pointing the finger at all these other people as being frigid. But maybe I'm the one. Maybe I'm frigid. Nah...I'm just looking for a little imagination on the other end. And can I just fucking say...it's lacking. And damn my lesbian ass I have no interest in puting out for boys. THAT would atleast take the edge off.

I love blogging.